Resurrection
by thelyricalmouse
Summary: Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection. - Arthur Schopenhaeur
1. Chapter 1

It's only been a few weeks since this started, but true to form it's already complicated.

Truth be told, nothing in her experience has ever been light and easy. All of this somehow fits into her skewed definition of normalcy.

She hasn't asked him over to her apartment yet for anything more than a coffee before work, and she doesn't think she'll change her mind on that self-imposed rule even after tonight. She's too protective over what her son sees to let anyone into the life they're building these days.

Her son's normal is still intact, and she intends to keep it that way.

The men she dates these days don't stick around, and she doesn't really ask them to. She used to think they left because her job was too hard to understand or the shield was too bright between them – but she's dated enough cops by now to realize it's none of those things. It's her. It's the way she's locked up and locked down. It's the way she crates her life into boxes that stack up in walls around her.

But she doesn't care. This isn't love. It's not even sex. Yet.

Olivia grips the neck on the bottle of red and ignores the bite in the mid April air. She doesn't bother with extra lipstick or a change in clothes, he's known her for too long to be impressed by anything now.

Maybe that's why this whole thing is both incomprehensible and perfectly logical at the same time.

She barely knocks on his apartment door before he swings it open. She almost smiles, not at him but at how life always has the last laugh. She'd hated him for too many years. Blamed him. She'd cursed him and even spent nights in jail because of him. Yet here she stands.

They don't talk of any of it.

He's a constant at least. He's sixteen years, and that has to mean something.

He stands in the doorway and nothing about him softens as he looks at her. Everything about him is hard – his jaw, his body, his attitude. His apartment is dark – he's prone to navy and black and thick, midnight curtains – but incongruously there is some warmth to the place. Surprisingly he's a proficient cook so the smell seeping out of the doorway is rich, lush with simmering garlic and thyme. His eyes are crystal blue and they fluctuate between burning and chilling, and maybe that's why she's here. Those eyes probably remind her of something. Someone.

She still hasn't figured anything out yet.

"Olivia." He says her full name. There would never be use of a nickname between them. It's still hard enough to get him to use her first name when he talks to her. Back when this thing started, he'd even called her by her rank at dinner one night.

"Ed." She won't use his last name when they are alone. Not ever. It reminds her too much of who they are and who they have been. "Hope I'm not too late."

It's then that his somber expression cracks slightly. His eyes soften just a bit as he steps back. "Come in."

He'd asked her to come for dinner. Said he had to tell her something that he's been waiting to say. She assumes it's about this irregular dating pattern they've been hanging onto as they both waited out their simultaneous suspensions. He'd been cleared of wrongdoing in the trafficking case, but she'd fucked up by telling Barba about this dating thing and that landed both of them a good four weeks without pay. With twelve hours to go before she can go back to work, she already assumed tonight will either be a goodbye or an expectation of sex. She's not really against either idea.

It's the way he's looking at her that tells her she'd been wrong on both counts. The air feels sharp around her.

She walks in, sets the bottle on the coffee table and sheds her coat quickly before he tries to help her with it. She's still setting it over the back of the couch when she feels him walk up behind her. He's three steps away but she can hear him breathing as if he's right on her back.

"They're giving you the squad back," he says in that low, scratching voice of his.

Olivia exhales and nods. "Yeah." She turns, trying to gauge what's coming next.

He's unflinching as he looks at her, and that steady stare has always unnerved her. "You sure that's what you want? You want a change, now is the time to ask. They'd be only too happy to move you."

For some reason she doesn't think she'll be eating here tonight. She thinks that the bottle of wine she brought might never be opened. She's already regretting taking off her coat. "I requested the reinstatement, Ed. I want to be there."

He narrows his eyes, shifts. The intensity radiating off of him is making her skin hurt. "No matter what?" He's cryptic. He judges reactions before he gives information. That's always been his nature.

That watchfulness has always made her defensive. Olivia straightens. There's a blow coming, and she braces for it. "That's my squad. Always has been."

Something shutters in his expression. He lifts his chin just enough that she can how he's withdrawing from her without saying a word.

Her shoulders fall, and whatever hope she had for this to feel good or move forward slips away. Another evening, another end to something that never really started.

It had been a good bottle of wine, too. She'd figured they'd deserved it considering they would finally get to go back to work tomorrow. Tonight should have been a celebration of sorts. The weeks of forced leave had been a blessing in terms of her time with Noah and absolute hell when it came to everything else. She should have taken Noah on a vacation, somewhere sunny and warm, but she kept thinking maybe the squad would need her and the brass would let her come back sooner.

No such luck.

"There's something you need to know."

She shrugs and shakes her head just a little, looking over his shoulder at the breakfast nook that juts out from the kitchen area. She's starving, but she knows she'll end up having to pick something up on her way home. "Might as well just tell me."

"They sent me some files a few days ago. Cases that will be mine. Things I needed to watch out for."

"You mean they sent you personnel jackets. Cops you need to shadow. Don't sugarcoat it, Tucker." Her tone is more biting than she'd intended, but she's never been a fan of his job. Truth be told when Brian had left for IAB she'd disconnected from him too. Brian was back in Narcotics now or she could have never started this thing with his boss. "They sent you someone on my squad?"

She's followed the unit's cases over the last month. Kept in touch with Dodds and Fin. There hadn't been any fuckup's under Dodds, and she'd been both relieved and uncomfortable that all the shitstorms only occurred on her watch.

He just stares at her, as if trying to guess if she's going to take a swing at him. He lowers his voice and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Yeah."

There is no romance or attraction left in the room for her now. She gives him a rueful grin. "Well, guess it's not me if you're telling me. So who is it? Rollins? Carisi? I'm betting my life it's not Dodds."

"Olivia-"

But she doesn't want to hear it. It's all bullshit. She's never understood the witch hunt that surrounds SVU day in and day out, and she'd be damned if she'd date the one person fact-checking for the lynch mob at One PP. She grabs her coat. "Fin?" She laughs, and it's a hard, empty echo. Even she can hear the bitterness in the sound that comes out of her. "Go ahead, Tucker. Do your best to turn over every stone. But do me a favor when you're done picking apart my squad and-"

"Olivia-" he interrupts again, taking a step towards her.

But she's not afraid of him. Not back then and especially not in this moment. Olivia steps into him, stopping only when she's almost toe-to-toe. "I am sick and tired of having to watch my back both on the street and in the department. I'm not sure which one is more dangerous. But I'm telling you that I'll go to bat – all the way to the damned mat – for any one of my people. For every one of them."

He doesn't move. He's not intimidated at all. His eyes are flat, but there's pain in them too and that throws her off because she thinks it's pain he's feeling on her behalf.

He waits. Second after second after second.

Then, when the air is silent and the street noise below has evaporated, his whisper is barely discernible. "I've been assigned to watch Stabler."

In just that, she can't breathe.

She must wobble or take a step backwards because his hand wraps around her forearm, aiming to steady her. She can feel the shock of the name, the acidic, excruciating implication seep into her bones. The sound of that particular name makes her want to cry, but there is no way in hell she'll cry in front of Ed Tucker.

Olivia drops her gaze to the floor, her hair falls forward. She lets him hold onto her. "Sonofabitch," she manages softly. She won't let her voice shake. She can't.

He's closer then, and she's grateful. He steps in, pulls her body against him and she's desperate for the heat on her cold skin. "They're assigning him to you, Olivia. He asked for that and he got it, and you know why the department wants him there."

For one moment she hates the badge. She hates the protocol, the toxic way that the department treats her like the enemy when she's lost everything to the job. She nods. Yeah, she knows why. It's the ultimate nail in everyone's coffin. Everyone knows enough that her fledgling connection with Tucker won't last in the face of this. She'll need every ounce of strength she has to keep another man in line. And she'll fail and Tucker will probably try and cover for her.

And they will all go down. Once and for all. One PP can't legally justify firing them or declining a reinstatement, but it can just watch them burn themselves to the ground.

She wants to curl up. Everything seems to be crushing in on her, as if a million thoughts that she'd shoved away are suddenly crowding into her head all at the same time. _Semper Fi_ , she thinks. It's on a medallion she'd been given once that she's long since tossed into a drawer somewhere.

Five years. Five _years._ It's been a lifetime since she's had to say that name.

"When?" Olivia manages. Her throat hurts, her palms ache.

To his credit, he doesn't let go of her. Instead his hand comes up, presses against her hair and encourages her to stay where she is. He knows. If anyone does, it's him _._

"Probably tomorrow afternoon."

She won't cry, but she's close. Her breath is stunted. Her fingers grip his arms and she just focuses on holding it together. A thousand thoughts are swirling around in her head, but one keeps pushing to the front.

It takes _time_ to reinstate.

It takes weeks. Months. It takes requalifying. It takes psych evals. It takes scaling bureaucratic brick walls.

He'd been trying to get back in for a long, long time.

He'd planned this. Expected to come back. He'd had time to prepare. She'd had none. He hadn't reached out at all.

He'd ambushed her after years of no contact.

She hangs onto the man in front of her for a little bit longer, wishing he had been just a bit more. But Ed Tucker had just been another casualty of the grip that someone else had shackled around her a lifetime ago.


	2. Chapter 2

_**April 14, 2016**_

 _ **7:15 AM**_

 _ **INCOMING CALL: NICK AMARO**_

Go back to bed, Nick. I'm fine.

 _Good morning to you too, Sunshine._

Oh, is this what they're calling morning in California?

 _Yoga. Pilates. Hiking a bunch of mountains. All before the sun rises. I'm a changed man, Liv._

Right. How could I forget? Let me guess. Amanda called as soon as she heard.

 _I don't know what you're talking about_

…

 _It was Munch. Not Amanda._

Of course it was. Three years away and he's still the biggest gossip in the 1-6. You sold him out quickly.

 _It's for a greater good._

I'm fine, Nick.

 _You can keep repeating it, Liv. Doesn't make it true._

Do you have to bust my balls right now?

 _I forgot how annoyed you get before your first cup of coffee. How did Noah's playdate last week go? Can we officially call Sadie his girlfriend?_

I'm not sure it's going to work out. She stole his favorite truck.

 _The start of all true love stories._

If only it were that easy.

 _Liv, I'm here if you want to talk._

…

Yeah.

 _You got this. Change can hurt, but it leads a path to something better._

You sound like a fortune cookie.

 _It was. I ordered Chinese last night._

You're an idiot. Thanks, Nick. And by the way, don't think I've forgotten about that little chat you were having with Cynthia. You want to tell me about it?

 _You want information, Lieutenant, you gotta give something back in return._

It'll have to wait. You should go back to bed.

 _Call me. If you need anything. Just remember: A single conversation with a wise man is better than ten years of study._

You done?

 _For now. Bye, Liv._

 _ **2:54**_

 _ **CALL ENDED.**_

* * *

"Liv."

She stops as soon as she hears her name and looks up from the file she'd been trying to focus on while heading back towards her office. Fin's tone and the way he blocks her from fully entering the squad room tells her that the time has come.

Her fingers feel cold.

She closes the file and clutches it against her chest, as if that alone will prevent Fin from seeing the way she's shivering.

But he's known her too well and for too long. The whole squad has been on edge for the last few hours, ever since she'd told them who would be rejoining the unit. None of them have worked with him though except Fin, and the rumors and innuendo don't really do the reality of their past any justice.

Only the man in front of her really knows.

"You leave him in one piece?" she asks quietly, trying to force a smile.

Fin hadn't taken the news well at all. He'd started to curse this morning but then he'd looked up at her and his own anger had been bottled in favor of worrying about her. He shrugs now, keeping his expression shuttered. "I got a few things to say to him, but it can wait. Ain't nothing suitable for the rest of the squad to hear."

It had been Fin who'd tried to call him in all the days after Lewis. She hadn't known he'd tried until months later, when Fin had thought she was finally strong enough to learn that not one of his calls had been answered.

She hadn't been surprised. That's why she had never called in the first place.

"Thank you," she manages.

When Fin finally turns and heads back into the squad room, her fingers land on the necklace around her neck. She presses the inscribed word beneath her fingerprint, as if it too is what identifies her. _Fearlessness_. She has Noah now, and she hangs onto that.

She isn't the same woman she was years ago.

All of their eyes are on her as she walks toward her office. She doesn't look up or seek out the shadow of his form on the other side of her deliberately closed blinds. She'd kept them closed all day because she still doesn't trust what her first reaction will be when she sees him. She doesn't want her squad to know things they shouldn't know.

She can't lose it. She'll hold it together because that's what she does. She's in her office sooner than she's ready for and she keeps her gaze averted, but she can feel him everywhere. The awareness on her skin hasn't changed.

He's the pressure of storm clouds trapped in a coffin.

She closes the door and grabs one last breath before her eyes skitter across the floor to where he leans against the low filing cabinets against the far wall.

His feet are crossed at the ankle, and he's wearing black dress pants. She lifts her eyes a little bit and sees his hands gripping the edge of the furniture. His knuckles aren't swollen and red, instead they are white as if he's holding on too hard. He's wearing an empty holster on his belt. There's no ring either, and she'd read about that in his jacket this morning. After years of agony, his marital state had simply been summed up by a checked box on a form.

He's broader, harder. His chest is solid, the veins in his neck are thick. His dark blue tie isn't familiar, but it's knotted perfectly at his neck.

His jaw is locked, pulsing and then….

Her eyes finally, reluctantly land fully on his.

She isn't shivering any longer. There is no movement in the room at all.

Olivia can't say anything. All of the things she'd planned to say fail her. All of the things she'd feared would happen no longer occur to her. She doesn't want to cry or hit him or scream or dismiss him. She's completely unprepared for how paralyzing this is.

He's looking at her without flinching. As if he can see inside of her. "Olivia-"

It ricochets through her. The molasses and grace of how he says her name. As if it is his name to own and not hers. The familiarity is searing.

In just that it's been both five long years and no time at all.

She can't do this. He will not be allowed to enter the life she has now. Her son, her home, her…he's simply not allowed anymore.

Screw saying hello. "You'll be partnered with Rollins," she finds herself saying. She clears her throat, straightens. "Neither one of you can afford a mistake. I'll expect you to look out for each other."

The blue of his irises refuses to stay one color. There is a swirling hell inside of him and he's deliberately showing her all of it instead of locking his expression down. He stands, pushes off the cabinet and takes a step towards her.

Olivia takes a step back and steels herself. If he remembers her at all he will back off.

He stills. He licks his lower lip and looks at her again. "I want to -"

"I don't care what you want," she interrupts. His voice had been soft and hers is too loud, too sharp, but she doesn't care. It feels right, this little bit of control that bursts out of her. She's not the same, _they_ are not the same. On the job, they are no longer even equals. Olivia lifts her chin, and she lets the instinct have her. "This is _my_ squad, is that clear?"

He doesn't take his eyes off of her. He just nods once. "As it should be. You've earned it," he says softly.

She's not used to her skin feeling like this anymore – like it's blistering off of her. It's taking everything she has not to drop the file she's clutching and literally hold herself together.

His badge, she thinks. His gun. Both had been delivered to her this morning. She just has to give them to him and then he'll leave her alone again for a little while. She walks around to her desk, drops the file and opens her drawer, vowing not to flinch this time when she touches his shield. When the uni had given it to her this morning she'd closed her door and sat at her desk looking at it for nearly thirty minutes, just staring at the all too familiar numbers.

6313.

Her fingers close around his Glock and she sets it on her desk. His badge follows. They sit on the middle of her desk now, and neither she nor he make a move.

They are dual elephants in the room. Glimmering, heavy. She can still hear the incongruous sound of his weapon being fired in the squad room, she can still smell the copper and the burning in the air. The echoes that rang in her ears for days, weeks afterwards. All of it is there with them again, unleashed and loud in the silent room.

 _He shot a teenage girl, he may never want to put his gun on again._

It had been Fin who had finally crystallized it to her in those succinct words. She'd been so certain in the weeks after Jenna's squad room rampage that Elliot would recognize it had been a good shoot, that he'd been given no choice but to fire his weapon. But Fin had predicted Elliot's reasoning even before Cragen had told her that her partner was never coming back. _Elliot's probably afraid to talk to you. Doesn't want you to try to talk him out of it._

"Not the same weapon," she says. "Not the same badge." At least he should know he's been issued new pieces, ones without legacy.

"Same number," he says quietly. "No one else wanted that number, even after all these years. Too much history."

Olivia presses her lips closed. She won't sympathize with him. She will not have empathy. "You had the option to pick a new number."

"And you had the option to pick a new squad." He looks straight at her then, as if it should be obvious that he's been keeping tabs on her. "The past isn't easily erased, Olivia. Especially when it hurts."

That's when the anger hits. He's a detective in her squad now and she's a lieutenant and there is a river of red hell she'd lived through that separates the years she'd known him from this moment. "I'm clear on that, thanks."

"Olivia, I'm sor-"

"No," she interrupts quickly, scraping her teeth across her lower lip until she nearly draws blood. "Nothing more. Just take them and go."

"Liv-"

"Lieutenant." It flies out of her, as if the biting way she'd thrown out her rank could hold him back at all. She looks at him defiantly, but she already knows what she will see.

There is the slightest bit of amusement in his eyes, even if it doesn't touch the rest of his expression. He's proud of her, and she can't let that mean anything. It means nothing.

He has to go. She's too aware of him already. The shift of his arms, the way he exhales. "I said that's all."

He takes a moment - as if he's going to say something - but then seemingly decides against it. He doesn't move.

"Take your weapon and shield and _go_ ," she says again, cursing her voice for faltering.

"Not yet. I got something to say, and I'm not gonna be holding that shield when I do."

Damn him for that deep, steady voice of his. She closes her eyes, willing herself to keep from giving him an inch. He's thrumming into her even though he's on the other side of the desk.

"I woulda killed him," Elliot finally murmurs quietly. "Wouldn't have needed that gun. Bare hands. In front of a dozen cops and the five o'clock news. I woulda killed him." His words are a desperate rush, a confession or an explanation expelled in the thick New York accent he usually hides so well. "I'd have torn him up, and nothing would have mattered. Not my kids, not my family, not this shield. Not even you."

Olivia's eyes open and focus on the white cotton that is stretched over his shoulder. She's shaking, and she doesn't care if he knows.

It's too late, she thinks. Too late for this.

Only with him nothing ever makes sense. It's as if he is there with her, standing outside of that godforsaken house on Long Island she'd been confined in, holding onto her. The years of therapy had focused on what she'd experienced, not on what she had missed.

She has no idea how to deal with this.

She doesn't want to say it. His name. It falls from her anyway. "Elliot." It's a warning that all of this is too much.

"He'd have never gotten free. I'd have bled him out before he'd been given a chance to get you on that stand."

Her eyes water. She stands still, but she can't look directly at him. Maybe she's weak, but she's needed this moment for so long. He might be willing to let her play at being his superior, but the man is not her subordinate.

He's not.

"No one is coming near you or Noah again."

It's not the gravelly way he says it that shakes her. It is not even surprising that he knows about Noah. It's the way she instinctively believes him, even when logic is screaming at her to shut him out. There have been other men in her life, there have been those who looked out for her. Despite their efforts, she hadn't ever felt a modicum of protection. She'd been good at navigating the nightmares all on her own.

Until now.

It scares her that she feels this way. He makes her need things again. Things she had learned to live without.

It's then that he reaches for his badge and gun. In seconds he is gone and the hurricane that had been trapped in her office dissipates.

The man is her partner, and she knows that even years of being away haven't stripped him of the job.


	3. Chapter 3

He feels old.

He had pushed himself into the best shape of his life over the last six months - preparing for the physicals before reinstatement - and he had ruthlessly focused on getting as strong and sharp as possible before he came back.

So it's not his body that makes him feel outdated.

It's the digital toys the squad has now that frustrate him. It's the intel gathering methodology and how it's filtered, the intricacies of the dozens of databases, the new social media channels that the sick fucks are using these days. It's the way he knows how the perps work far better than he knows what half the cops on the payroll actually do for the NYPD these days.

Five years feels like no time and forever all at once.

Detective Amanda Rollins sits in front of him now, and at least the coffee shop next to the 1-6 had stayed the same. Remodeled sure, but The Hideout Café hasn't changed the brew. He makes note of the fact that she takes hers with cream, no sugar as he peels back the tab on his own steaming cup.

Rollins had literally given him the three-hour tour, bringing him up to speed on all of the latest gadgets, departments and processes. He's been craving this coffee almost since the song and dance started.

"So, since you're my new partner I figure I got a right to ask," she drawls. She smiles at him then, and it's almost impish, as if she suspects that her youth and that twang might soften him up into answering.

He actually likes her. She reminds him of one of his daughters. Hell, she's only a few years older than Maureen. He knows she's caused herself a lot of problems because he'd pulled some old favors to learn a few things about her, but he likes that she's ballsy and undeterred. The best cops are the ones who understand when to veer from the straight and narrow right from the start of this job.

Olivia had always known how to balance both sides of the line. Far better than any cop he'd ever known. Far better than he'd ever been able to.

He clears his throat, knowing that he can't let anything show or the woman sitting across from him now will read it too well. "You want to know why I'm back."

Rollins flicks her bangs out of her eyes and nods. "Yeah. Why now? You've been gone a long time."

He gives her a half smile. "Too many reasons to explain."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Nah, you just don't want to tell me yet. That's fine. I'll get it out of you one day. Just figured I'd ask because you've got quite a reputation." That's when the smile falls off her face. It's as if she spoke too soon, without thinking. She leans forward, instantly serious. "I don't mean about that kid. I mean, everyone's heard about it but everyone 'round here knows it was justified. You got a -"

"I've got a long history with the squad," he interrupts, praying she'll take the hint and drop the subject.

She nearly looks relieved, as if she's glad he'd saved her from going on and on. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

He forces a smile. "No, what you meant was that you've heard I have a long history with Olivia."

She sits back then, holding her coffee and looking him over. "Truth? What I've heard is that half the guys around here think you two were a thing, and half think you weren't."

If she's going to trust him to have her back, he has to give a little. He knows that. He also knows that Olivia's reasons for teaming him up with Rollins go beyond their mutual informal probation. She's young, she's impulsive and he's going to be responsible for Rollins in a lot of ways.

Deep in his gut, he sees what Olivia's done even if she doesn't see it herself. She trusts him still - even if it's just a little bit. She entrusted this particular detective to him, when instead she should have punished him by partnering him with Fin. Elliot had been very well aware of how Fin looked at him - with wariness, anger and a hell of a lot of accusation just waiting there on the tip of his acidic tongue.

He doesn't blame Fin. He knows he's got it coming.

He shakes his head just a little. "It wasn't like that. It was complica…"

"Fin called you for months. Guess you didn't think you needed to call anyone back?"

 _Christ._

He hadn't been expecting that. She'd gone from flighty and gossipy to straight for the jugular in no time flat. He gets it now, why she's so good with the perps. She builds their trust and then strikes without warning.

He can't explain it to her. It's not hers to know. His reasons for staying away are owed to Olivia and no one else.

His lack of response isn't met with the silence Olivia would have given him. Olivia would have let him be, she would have assumed she didn't need the answer anyway and she would have backed off.

But Rollins is all movement and words and unfettered curiosity. She leans in again and tilts her head. Her gaze is clear, steady. Assessing.

"See, I get to ask that question because if we're partners, then I'd like to consider you a friend. Fin and I? We're friends. But I can't imagine a friend of mine not even calling me after something like that. So…" She sits up, straightening before taking a sip of her coffee without taking her eyes off of him. When she's done she grins, and there's no humor in it. "So I guess I'm just statin' the obvious when I say that you got a lot to prove.. Hope you're ready for that, 'cause I don't know how it was back when you were around, but I can tell you that we've all been through a helluva lot since you were last here, and the way I see it, you're the new guy to the rest of us."

He's silent. He can't fault her. She's not angry or accusatory. She's a straight shooter, and he likes that she'd chosen to lay all of her cards on the table. He'd heard about her battles with gambling, so he knows she probably doesn't making any decision without instinctively weighing the odds.

"I got your back," he finally says, focusing on picking at the edge of his cup. "You can read all about every fuck up I've ever made, but I won't ever leave you hanging out there. You'll read that too."

As soon as he says it, he realizes that he'd messed up.

At least she's quiet when she responds. Rollins leans in, setting her cup on the table. "You left my Sergeant hanging, Detective Stabler. And no matter what you think you mighta read about what she went through, no matter what you think you know, lemme tell you that you don't. For two weeks after that first round with Lewis, most of the squad took leave. Manhattan let the other units back us up because none of us could keep a meal down or get any sleep. All we wanted was to know what to do, how to fix things for Olivia. Nick used to just go watch TV with her during the day. We'd drop off food, and between Brian and Fin crashing on her couch, she didn't have a night alone after that."

He can't hear this. Not yet. None of them know why he wasn't there, why he couldn't be. He doesn't expect understanding much less forgiveness. It's not like he has ever forgiven himself.

Elliot's chair scrapes back loudly as he stands up. He focuses on holding his cup without breaking it, he's doing his best to keep his emotions in check.

She doesn't back down. "You oughta know they said your name. Munch, Fin, Cragen. They whispered about you as if you were the solution to something for her. Yet all I know is you never showed. So we're partners, you and I. But Olivia's the one who's had my back. She's the one who's saved my badge more times than I can count." Rollins stands then, shoving her chair back under the table and obviously ready to go. "And if push comes to shove, I just figured you oughta know where my loyalty's gonna fall. We clear?"

He just wants to get back to the squad room. He knows he's not wanted there either, but if he can just get his bearings as a cop again, he won't feel like he's walking on a seesaw anymore. "Clear."

Thankfully it's enough for her.

They don't say anything else as he pushes open the door and they step out into the bitter early evening wind. He thinks about what Rollins had said about the squad losing their appetites, their sleep and their peace of mind in the weeks after Lewis.

What she doesn't understand is that he still doesn't sleep through the night. It's been three years and he still finds himself roaming his apartment at night. Some nights he'll take a hot shower at 3 a.m; other nights it's a tall glass of Scotch while the city sleeps. In the last three years he's spent hundreds of nights running through the darkness of the city parks, waiting for his lungs to sear. He's hit the bag before the sun came up, he's felt his face burned by the cold night winds off of the piers.

He's been to every place Lewis ever took Olivia nearly a dozen times. Twice, he'd broken bones in his hands tearing shit apart.

The one place he hasn't been since the day she'd been taken is church, and he doesn't see himself going back there anytime soon.

It's been three years since he realized that his religion had failed him, and that God was no longer listening to him anyways.

* * *

It's half past eight and the last vestiges of sunlight have faded into the now graying sky. The lamp on her desk is dimming, the bulb nearly out, but she doesn't want the fluorescent glow of the overhead tonight. It'll draw too much attention, and knowing her sonofabitch ex-partner, he'll wait her out, no matter how late it gets. If she can sit here in the quiet, maybe he'll slip away, leave her be.

She's exhausted, but it's not the kind of tired that sleep or a vacation could fix. She has dreams of taking her son on island vacations; of bringing him to the coast of Maine on the brightest of summer days to all of the places she never got to experience as a child, but the job still takes from her. It keeps her rooted here. It's different than it once was, but the blood feels depleted from her body now, her bones ache with weariness.

The truth is, it's because of him.

Elliot Stabler: shield number 6313, former partner, devoted father, asshole whom she once believed - maybe still believes - she's in love with. He came back into her life when she was numb but settled, broken and yet somehow complete. He used to be the biggest contradiction in her life, until she realized life was entirely contradictory. Since Lewis or perhaps before, nothing has ever quite made sense the way she hoped it would.

Through the slats in her blinds, she watches him sit there. He doesn't have a case yet nor does he have the paperwork he used to be desperate to hand off to her, so instead he's rearranging his desk with photographs. She used to see the backs of those frames and wonder what it was like to have a family, to be loved in the way he was by Kathy and his children. So much has changed and yet it feels as if nothing has, and there's something cyclical about that, about the way life moves and people change, but things somehow end up the same.

She tears her eyes away from the window, glancing at the time on her computer. Quarter to nine and the darkness has completely enveloped the sky outside her windows. Her son is already in bed, but if she's lucky he'll roll over in his sleep when she enters the room, the soft sigh falling across her cheek when she kisses him goodnight.

This is ridiculous. She's losing minutes with her son to a man who had left her without a call, without reaching out in all the moments that truly mattered. She faced him this morning and she can face him again for the three seconds it'll take for her to walk out of here, head held high. He has no effect on her.

Except he does, of course he does.

Olivia takes off her glasses and throws a few things into her bag before the silence outside is broken and it's Fin's voice she hears: clear, loud, annoyed.

"She's not leavin' until you do, Stabler. Think she's had enough of you for one day, let her get home to her kid."

Elliot's answer is muffled, but she remembers the inflections of his voice, ghosts coming out of the shadows and back into her heart. The accent is thick and he was always the one to fight with Fin. His body is wide behind his desk and he's too big for this room, for this unit. She waits for it, for the shouting and the fight she'll inevitably have to break up, but then he's pushing back against his desk, standing. Olivia quickly drops her gaze, but it's too late. Their eyes lock and just like that she's back in that warehouse with Elliot and Gitano, their stare impenetrable, their lives on the line.

She thinks she hates him for coming back. She thinks she hates him even more for leaving how he did.

She doesn't even realize Elliot has left until there's a knock on her door and Fin steps in, one hand still on the doorknob.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

Fin shrugs. "You weren't gonna throw his ass outta here."

"There's still time," she answers wryly. "You heading home?"

"Got some paperwork I need to do."

"You're staying late for paperwork?" She hoists her bag onto her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow. "I take it that date didn't go well?"

"Shoulda gotten a parakeet." Olivia laughs and when Fin is halfway out the door, he turns around, leaning against it. "You can still ship him outta here, Liv. Let the Bronx or Queens handle him."

It's his squad too, she wants to say, but it's not. It's _hers_ and she needs to remember that.

"And give up the chance to torture him a little bit?" She thinks there are a million things she can say in this moment and yet none of them come. "It'll get easier," she manages. "For all of us."

"If you say so."

But as she shuts the light to her office and she walks through the nearly empty bullpen, her eye catches the new photos on his desk. Maureen and Kathleen. Dickie and Lizzie. Eli. The five of them with Elliot on what must have been his last birthday.

She can lie and say it'll get easier, but it's always been the complications with them that win out.

* * *

 **Today**

 **9:45 p.m.**

 **OUTGOING TEXT: NICK AMARO**

Letting you know today was fine.

 _Look at you actually telling me things before I force it out of you. You are a fountain of info, Liv_.

You should show your commanding officer some respect.

 _I did when you were. Now this friendship is fair game. You're okay? You didn't kill Stabler? More importantly, Fin didn't?_

Not today. How was Zara's dance recital?

 _She was perfect. I'll send the video once I get it from Maria._

 _I didn't know the guy, Liv. You can tell me that I helped you grow, that you don't know what you had with him, but we both know it was something._

You and I are friends, Nick, but this isn't your business.

 _No, it's not, but I care about you. I also know better than anyone that people can make up for the shit in the past._

This isn't the same as you and Cynthia.

 _Not saying it is. Just saying everyone deserves to be heard. You home?_

About to walk in the door.

 _Give Noah a hug for me. We'll talk tomorrow._

No wise fortune cookie advice to cap off the night?

 _Listen to Nick Amaro. Genius, is he._

Smartass

 _I was going for Yoda._

Yoda you are not

Delivered

* * *

Even before he's got his key in his apartment door lock, he knows that there is someone inside.

He can smell the cooking garlic and herbs coming from within and hear her chattering on the phone as she moves around the small space. He can hear her footfalls and her laughter and for one moment he rests his head against the outside of the door and just exhales.

She makes it easier for him. She makes everything easier. The last few months of her living with him have changed him, made him feel more connected and purposeful. Capable. She's got no idea how grateful he is.

Elliot opens the door and she's already hanging up the call, spinning on her socked feet to grin beautifully at him.

"So? How'd it go?"

His smile forms slowly, for no other reason than to reassure her. "It was good."

Her bright eyes cloud as she frowns at him. "You're lying. I told you, you have to do this for you and it doesn't matter to me if-"

He steps closer to her and places a kiss on her forehead, silencing her for the time being although he knows the questions will inevitably come later. At twenty-two, Elizabeth is no longer a little girl that he can placate or divert for very long. "It was fine, baby."

She exhales and steps back, looking up at him as if again judging his answer. To her credit, she doesn't push him. "I made you dinner. It's just spaghetti and garlic bread but my guess is you haven't eaten?"

He laughs just a little at the fact that she's an incorrigible mother hen. She had started working in Queens three months earlier, and because Kathy and Eli had moved a bit further south into Jersey, he is now the closest one to where she has to go every day. Since the first day she'd moved in, his whole world had changed. His dark, simple apartment had filled with throw pillows and paperwork and the sound of late night television. She buys groceries and flowers and she stays up too late on the pullout couch in the living room, reading and talking endlessly to Maureen or her mother.

"No," he shakes his head. "I haven't."

Liz puts her hands on him, turning him and pushing him towards the bedroom. "Shower Dad. Then we're eating and watching Castle. _Go._ "

He acquiesces, heading to his bedroom. He usually lets her lead him. He eats what she makes, he watches what she chooses. He feels grateful for her vibrancy, because she alone put life into this place. And she doesn't easily let him roam the city at night. She wakes when he so much as touches the chain lock on the front door on the nights when he's trying to ease his pounding head.

He closes his bedroom door and starts the shower in the attached bathroom. He doesn't want her to know that tonight his temples are already throbbing. She's told him the night headaches he gets are from anxiety, and he doesn't argue because he's got no other explanation to give her. He'd been to the doctor and there's nothing physically wrong with his head, but the headaches are still debilitating.

They always come at night.

Some nights they are beyond excruciating.

On the worst nights, when he can't find distraction by out-paining the pain with the late night runs or the punching bag, he'll give in and take some Tylenol, but that's all he'll allow himself. He doesn't want to get back to where he used to be.

He strips down and steps under the hot spray, waiting for the water to pound into his head and praying that tonight he'll be able to sleep. It was one thing to suffer through the insomnia and pain when he wasn't working, but now the lack of sleep could become dangerous. He has to stay sharp, strong. He can't fail any of them.

Elliot lifts his head, and the water stabs at his closed eyelids. It hits his cheeks, his lips, his forehead. The water slides down his chest and he swipes his hand over his face.

 _No one is coming near you or Noah again._

The water is losing to the throbbing of his head. He leans forward, pressing his fists to the shower wall in front of him and bowing so the water hits the back of his neck. His closed eyes are a replay of her as she'd stood there in her office, just watching him. There was a stillness in her today that scared him, because he thinks most people would assume she is holding it all together, unaffected. In charge. Even handling it well.

But he sees her differently than everyone else. He knows better.

He's infinitely grateful to Noah, because that little boy had saved Olivia when everyone else had failed. Without her son, he knows that the resignation inside of her would be far more obvious.

He knows that without Noah, Olivia would have long ago given up and given in.

 _Elliot._

The memory of how she'd said his name hits him then. The pain expands, seeps down into his neck, his shoulders, his arms and into his fingers. His toes stiffen on the shower floor, his teeth ache. That had been the difference today. He'd seen her before this afternoon, of course. Too many times.

But today, she'd also seen him.

 _Elliot._

The headache sharpens, strengthens. He drops his head into his hands, pushes his thumbs into his temples. Tonight there will be no outrunning the agony, tonight there will be no dinner or television.

Tonight he will just need the dark and the endurance to simply let the pain have him.


End file.
